


Green, Green Are Her Eyes

by cormallen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Other, dub-con, mentions of off-screen minor character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cormallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the apocalypse, Dean borrows a page from the Djinn's book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green, Green Are Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to [rejeneration](http://rejeneration.livejournal.com) for the awesome beta.

Bobby's house is streaks of warm sunshine, yellow splashes on old tired wood, dog barking in beat with his wagging tail, pots clinking and clanging in the kitchen. _I'm making chili_, the woman says, _here, sit, it'll be ready soon enough_, lid lifting, spices hot and rich on his tongue.

_Where's Bobby_, lighter click-clicks burning into her cigarette, _you keeping house for him now, pretty girl, let me have one of those_.

_Guess so_, smoke rings catching on her lip, _he'll be back in a few days, gone to get some supplies, for what's coming. You do know what's coming, dontcha, Dean? _

 

"He looks surprisingly happy, all things considering."  
"Took quite a few tries, but he really does now, doesn't he?"  
"Where does he think he is?"  
"You can look in, if you want. Dean, come here."

 

_Come here_, she calls, tall for a woman, long, brown hair, shaggy over her eyes, sparkling green when he pushes the strands away, tries her name out in a tired voice, _Samantha, Sam, Sammy._

She makes the bed for him, fresh clean sheets, dryer-warm and crisp, _does Bobby even have a dryer, used to hang our things on the clothesline in the back, didn't we, years ago? _

_Of course we did_, fingers popping his buttons, _just relax, take care of you, it'll be good, so good, I promise. _

 

"It's a fascinating reality. Very complex. Why a woman?"  
"So he doesn't feel guilty about fucking her."  
"Hm. Is she anyone in particular?"  
"Bits and pieces. Not really. She's his perfect woman, after all, no such thing on this Earth."  
"Not anymore."

 

_Come to bed, Sammy, come on, who're you talking to? _

_I'm on the phone_, she says, _you know how it is_, makes a face, lets him rub up against her hip, pulls her shirt up above her tits, no bra.

 

"Nice rack. Are they real?"  
"Her tits? Yeah, they are. Looked a lot better bloodied, but Dean didn't like that much, wouldn't stop shaking. Very pretty girl until she opened her mouth, shame it didn't work out between them after the bitch shot me."

 

Hot coffee in the morning, _how do you like it_, she asks, hands on slim hips, _please don't say black and bitter_, stirs a spoonful of sugar in. _Drink up, Dean, let you sleep in long enough. Have to go pick up a few things. We've got work to do. _

_Was this always your car_, he asks, Sammy in the driver's seat, fiddling with the radio knobs, country, country, sermon, western, Zeppelin, _bingo, baby, we're good to go. _

 

"He looks like he'd rather drive, don't you think?"  
"He'll drive back. I let him sit in the real thing yesterday. Radio doesn't work anymore, of course, but I think he likes touching the dials."  
"Simple pleasures. Hmph. I have to say, your patience reaches hellish proportions."

 

Take advantage of our Buy of the Week, carts pushing through brightly lit aisles, _want me to give you a ride_, he asks, _climb in, it'll be fun. Don't worry, Sammy, I won't let go. _

_Hey, stop here, aisle five, wings on special_, she says, _do you like honey mustard, I make a mean honey mustard glaze_, back at the house, air and sunshine, dog barking happily at the sound of the engine, front door lazily creaking open.

_When is Bobby coming back_, he asks, stares into Sammy's eyes, sparkling green underneath all that heavy hair, silky between his fingers.

_A couple more days, two, three, I already told you. Eat up, you've got to get your strength back, one more bite, come on, for me, Dean, for me. _

 

"Does he know Singer's dead?"  
"Maybe; I don't think so. It's been too many days, I've lost count."  
"I never bothered counting. Good heavens, it's like watching a car wreck on a reality show, what was that one with the house, 'Big Brother'? I do miss TV."  
"Say that again."  
"What, 'I miss TV'?"  
"No, 'good heavens'. It's really funny to hear you say it."  
"Oh, don't be such a racist, Kettle. Or are you Pot? How does that go again?"  
"I think you're Kettle. Come on, just say the words."  
"Good heavens. Lord almighty. My god. Oh, god. Ooh, god!"

 

_God, don't stop, so good, Dean, do you even know what you do to me? _

_Tell me_, he says, pushing her thighs apart, wet and slick under his tongue, bittersweet like the morning coffee.

She is twisting, panting against him, _nobody like you, Dean, nobody, need you, want you. Miss you. _

 

"Oh, that's real sweet. Do you need me to give you some time alone with him? Hey, does it still count as alone time, what with Nice Rack Sammy as the go-between?"   
"You don't get to call her 'Sammy'. That's for Dean, not you."  
"Wow, way to get hung up on a name. Fuck, _good heavens_, ow! That really fucking hurt!"  
"Good. It was meant to. Don't forget what else I can do to you, hmm?"  
"Wouldn't dream of it, _Sir_. Would you like to hear my report now?"  
"Go ahead."  
"We found little Harvelle. Group of twelve, holed up in the mountains. Mother wasn't there, probably didn't make it. Want us to move in?"  
"I want her alive; not too worried about the rest of them. You may go."

 

_Nobody like you_, she sighs against his mouth, _I miss you. I need you, Dean, please. Do you think_, her voice cracking, _do you think you might want to wake up now? _

He shakes his head no, fingers clinging to the pulse in her neck, tangling and pulling at shaggy brown hair, _no_, settling between her legs, _no_, and she sobs, endless and pitiful as he presses in, _love you, love you, love you, please, don't you want to wake up for me, Dean, _

 

"please, Dean."

 

_No_, he moans, moving, _no. You're not there when I wake up, but he is, and his hands are bloody. No, _ he pants and shudders, stares into Sammy's eyes, sparkling green and wet.


End file.
